


(I want to return to you) a reason to be here

by Sapphylicious



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: M/M, starts fluffy turns angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphylicious/pseuds/Sapphylicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaejoong, armed and dangerous with a Polaroid camera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(I want to return to you) a reason to be here

Changmin knows trouble when he sees it: Jaejoong, barely through the front door, dumping shopping bags on the floor and forgetting to take off his boots _again_ , presumably because he's wrestling something out of a package. Before he can take another step inside the house Changmin bars his way. "Boots, hyung," he reminds—patronizing but gentle coming from him since he hasn't backed it up with one-touch, which likely would have only sent Jaejoong sprawling.

Jaejoong doesn't need any help with that, tripping over his own feet as he tries to toe his suede boots off while simultaneously tearing open a cardboard box. Yunho would have helped with one thing or the other. Yoochun would have tried to help and they both would have gone crashing down. Junsu would have been in the same spot he's in right now; parked on the sofa with his computer, intent on his game. Changmin merely watches Jaejoong fall on his ass amongst the spoils of his latest shopping haul.

"Ow, shit!" Jaejoong rubs his hip and peers up at Changmin before thrusting a foot towards him with an expectant pout. He should be too old to be sporting that look but that's never stopped Jaejoong before.

Naturally, Changmin snorts. "What are you, two?"

"At heart," Jaejoong says with a winning smile and absolutely no shame.

Changmin has no intention of babying the full-grown man, but he ends up grabbing Jaejoong's ankle anyway just to avoid being kicked. "Do you need help getting dressed in the morning, too?" He yanks the strappy boot off and drops it in disgust. He could have thrown it, but one-touch is hands or nothing. He's not sure why.

"No," Jaejoong says innocently while removing the other boot himself. He probably knows better than to rely on Changmin's generous (hah) nature twice. With a less innocent grin, he adds, "Just with getting _un_ dressed."

Changmin can't roll his eyes hard enough and lets that one pass. Sometimes—sometimes!—if he ignores the comment Jaejoong will get distracted by something else. And now that the man has been safely de-booted Changmin grudgingly allows him entry into the house.

He's turned his back and taken three steps when something behind him snaps and flashes. Slowly, suspiciously, he spins around again. Everyone except Junsu is staring at Jaejoong, still seated on the floor with a pleased grin, and a vintage, bulky Polaroid camera in his hands. It spits out a white-bordered photo which Jaejoong happily brandishes, bouncing to his feet and shoving it under Changmin's nose. Even though the image hasn't developed yet, all Changmin can see on the blank, glossy film is doom.

#

Jaejoong is dangerous enough with his camera phone. They've all grown more or less accustomed to those discreet shots, ignoring them most of the time until one shows up in someone's inbox to incite varying degrees of embarrassment. Quality and artistry mean nothing to Jaejoong, and he's willing to sacrifice convenience for the material pleasure of holding memories in his hands. So the Polaroid becomes his new love, and consequentially the bane of everyone else's existence.

In the morning he snaps a picture of Yunho smiling—awkward with a side of deer-in-headlights—wearing nothing but a towel and half his face slathered in shaving cream. His arms are frozen at a startled angle caught between self-consciousness and a deeply-ingrained history of posing for magazine spreads.

Photographic evidence proves that Yoochun's bed-head is not nearly as bad as some of his concept hairstyles. There's a second shot that goes along with it: Yoochun's hand about to grab the camera and curl around it in a vain attempt to temporarily cease the madness. All that does is prompt a lot of tickling and shrieking and grumpy housemates at 7:00 a.m. on their day off.

There's Junsu looking half-drowned, mid-sputter in the shower, fortunately only from the shoulders up because there isn't enough space in the bathroom to get a more revealing shot. Junsu is red-faced afterward, dripping water all over the apartment trying to get the photo or the camera or both away from Jaejoong. "I've been violated!" he protests, not that he's one to talk after that ass-grabbing phase.

Changmin congratulates himself for his habit of locking the bathroom door. That spares him from the worst of it, but when he pads into the kitchen for a midnight snack he finds a Polaroid stuck to the refrigerator. He holds it under the dimmed row of lights that hang over the counter to see himself conked out in the backseat of their van from yesterday, yawning hugely. There's an arrow drawn in with permanent marker pointing at his cavernous mouth, and a note reading: "Kimbap goes here! (Third shelf, blue container)"

Cracking a smile that goes unseen in the empty kitchen, Changmin retrieves the leftovers. When Jaejoong cooks there are almost always leftovers, and they're almost always gone by morning. He finishes his snack and leaves the plastic container in the sink to be dealt with later. He also leaves the photo where he found it on the door.

There's something wrong about being ambushed with camera flashes when they're not working, especially in the privacy of their own home. But of course, no one bothers to tell Jaejoong that.

#

Jaejoong's new hobby isn't cheap, but as with all things he adores, he splurges on it. When two more packs of 600 integral film arrive in the mail one day he happens to be out visiting his biological mother for the first time in a while, and the other four take advantage of the respite to call an emergency meeting.

"Burn them," Junsu says immediately. He's totally serious, clearly still chafing over the shower incident.

Yunho shakes his head. "They're his, he paid for them. We can't just destroy his property."

Junsu goes shifty-eyed. "Maybe they were damaged while shipping."

"They're expensive," Changmin points out, because while he likes being sneaky, he likes making people's lives harder more.

Yunho's I'm-Responsible face sets in deeper and Junsu just scowls.

"Hide them?" Yoochun suggests.

But no one is quite willing to shoulder the accountability, and then the retribution when Jaejoong finds out. 

"I'll do it," Changmin eventually offers.

Junsu jabs a finger at him and accuses, "You're a traitor. You'll just team up with him."

"It's called a lock, hyung. You turn the latch on the knob to make it work."

In the end their emergency meeting accomplishes nothing, and when Jaejoong returns home his package is sitting unmolested on the table. "Oh, good, I was wondering when these would come." He tears into them right away.

"You will regret this," Junsu promises each of them as Jaejoong loads the film into his precious One Step camera.

Flash: Yunho, long-suffering. Yoochun, ducking his face to hide a smile. Junsu, captured in motion. And Changmin, sneaking a glance at the camera, or more precisely the man behind it.

#

Changmin trudges into a dark apartment after a long schedule that had extended late into the night, practically sleepwalking through the motions of getting ready for bed. He changes into pajamas quietly, careful not to disturb the rest of the house, and then crosses the hallway to the bathroom. He knows he only has himself to blame for not locking the door when the camera flash goes off in his face.

"Hyung," Changmin says murderously, dripping toothpaste foam on the edge of the sink. He spits and rinses first, then punches Jaejoong in the arm. Even when he's this tired the one-touch makes Jaejoong fumble the camera, but he doesn't drop it (more's the pity).

"Careful!" Jaejoong cradles the device protectively to his chest like it's alive. Just for that, Changmin hits him again with a soundless snarl, and Jaejoong frees an arm not to fend him off but to hit him back.

The scuffle in the bathroom starts to turn noisy, but it stops when Jaejoong slips and falls into the tub with a loud, echoing curse. He still manages to keep hold of the camera, but the new photo flutters to the ground. Changmin sighs and picks it up, watching the image form. His profile is turned just the slightest bit towards the camera as he notices the door being pushed open, and he looks weirdly startled, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth and his brow quirked. So much for photogenic.

"Changmin-ah," Jaejoong calls mournfully from the tub. His legs are draped over the lip and he makes pitiful, squirming kicks, arms held out like Changmin's supposed to help him up.

"Maybe you should sleep there tonight," he says instead, arms crossed. Then, without waiting for a reply, he turns on his heel and flips off the light as he walks out.

The door closes on Jaejoong not-quite-shouting, "There's foam on your chin and you look stupid! Yah, Shim Changmin!"

#

"You're not going to take up scrapbooking, are you?" The scary thing is that Changmin can picture it, and that prompts a whole new kind of unfolding horror.

"You think I should?" Jaejoong is lying lengthwise on the couch, camera resting on his stomach and an array of photos fanned out in his hands like cards.

"No," Changmin says swiftly, and then fishes for a reason that might appeal to Jaejoong-logic. Dealing with Jaejoong is an inherently chancy thing, which part of Changmin hates but the other part knows without it he'd be bored. "It'd be inconvenient," he finally explains. "They're easier to keep with you if they're not in a big album."

"Absolutely," Jaejoong agrees with a bright smile. "That's our tensai, Changmin-sama."

Changmin pats himself on the back for avoiding a disaster (what would anyone do without him?), then turns back to his computer and the half-composed email to one of his friends. He's just sent it off when Jaejoong, with impeccable timing, relocates to join him at the table. Jaejoong pulls a chair out and scoots it closer—after so many years Changmin's gotten used to the man's pathological need for proximity, at least insofar that he puts up with it most of the time. He's not sure if it's easier or harder in private; easier because he doesn't have to worry about how it looks, harder because he doesn't have a reason to worry about how it looks.

"Junsu never changes, does he?" Jaejoong shows off his collection, snickering at a photo of Junsu with grains of rice sticking around his O-shaped mouth, chopsticks pointed at the camera accusingly.

"You're going to give him a complex." After a moment's consideration he closes his laptop, realizing the futility and inevitable frustration of attempting to ignore Jaejoong. Besides, some of the pictures are worth taking a look at.

"Perish the thought," Jaejoong says with drama, both of them knowing when a joke is just a joke.

There's a shot of Yoochun in the morning, the sunlight from the window making his form blurry around the edges as he pulls on a shirt. He's half-twisted around, the tattoo on his lower back exposed, and at that hour he probably isn't even aware of the picture being taken. "You are such a voyeur," Changmin accuses without heat, closer to teasing. The atmosphere captured on film is more gentle than perverted.

The smack to his arm comes as no surprise—in some ways Jaejoong is predictable. "But you're all so precious to me. I just want to be able to remember everything about you."

"Senility kicking in already?" This time Changmin blocks the blow, and Jaejoong nearly topples from the chair when they grapple. He ends up clinging to Changmin so if he goes down, they both go down together.

"Aish, this kid." Jaejoong half-sighs and half-laughs in his breathy manner once the threat of falling passes.

"I hope your clumsiness isn't contagious."

"If it was, wouldn't you be contaminated already?"

"I'll send you the doctor's bill then."

Jaejoong's jaw drops in mock astonishment, still grinning. "Pay your own bill! You should pay _my_ bill for all the mental abuse you inflict on me."

"I have bruises because of you. When my mother sees she'll tell me, 'Changmin-ah, you shouldn't have to live like this'."

"Don't lie. You liar." Jaejoong's expression subtly changes to suspicion and something else that puts Changmin's guard up. "So let's see these bruises of yours. If you have them." His slightly gleeful tone says, _I double-dog dare you._

Changmin eyes the camera that suddenly appears in Jaejoong's hands, primed to go. "Not going to work." He's the only one so far who hasn't been ambushed in a state of undress yet, and he's very keen on maintaining the status quo.

"Just a little?" Jaejoong wheedles with those big eyes of his. No contacts today, just the plain black frames that Changmin has always thought looked good on him.

"No!" He looks away, neck slightly warm. Quick for a distraction, he opens his computer again and pretends to read his email.

"Our Changmin-ah," Jaejoong sighs. "So difficult."

"Excuse me for being difficult," he mumbles, absently clicking through his browser tabs.

"Very difficult," Jaejoong emphasizes. "All those locked doors."

"Isn't that normal? They have locks for a reason."

"But they're not walls. They're meant to open. If someone's at the door you open it for them."

"Not if that someone has a camera."

Jaejoong very pointedly sets his camera down. Changmin keeps his eyes on the screen and employs the ignoring tactic because he can't handle Jaejoong when he's like this. A focused Jaejoong is an unsettling thing, and Changmin hates to admit how that shakes his confidence.

Seconds crawl by, a brief, but noticeable gap before the inevitable one-touch comes. Almost normal, it's their unique method of communication founded on the excusable rule that the harder the hit, the more love it conveys. This one feels like it hurts more than usual, but that could be Changmin's imagination saying, _this much. I love you this much._

#

Changmin doesn't lose things often; he's not like Yunho, Mr. I-Can't-Find-My-Phone-In-My-Pocket, and to be fair there's still some stuff they haven't unpacked since moving into the new apartment (smaller, accommodating two rather than five, its unfamiliarity a mixed blessing). He locates the boxes in the closet, dragging one out and ripping through the tape that seals it shut. The cardboard flaps are pulled open and he rummages through the contents, a jumble of plastic cases and consoles and controllers, looking for the video game on loan from a friend he's meeting later. The move was months ago but he still hasn't set up the game systems—his number one competitor isn't around to beat, and Yunho's been busy (plus gaming isn't that much of a hobby of his, though he can be fierce once he gets going).

The borrowed game isn't among the others and Changmin frowns. If Junsu took it by mistake it's as good as gone. But there's one more unpacked box that he drags out into the hallway, peeling it open and then sitting down hard when he sees what's inside.

He grasps the pieces of cardboard as if to fold them shut again, but doesn't quite manage to go through with it. His hands have ceased all motor function, some signal lost between brain and muscle coordination. Most of the mess in the box consists of notebooks and binders stuffed with loose music sheets, a pair of headphones he'd completely forgotten about since getting new ones for Christmas, and a couple of old CDs. Then, on top of the pile, is Jaejoong's Polaroid camera. Next to it are the photographs, white-bordered, all mingled together in a zipped plastic bag rather than arranged in a proper photo album. _At least it's not a scrapbook_ , is Changmin's first inane thought.

Which is followed by something more reasonable: _What are these doing here?_

Part of him knows when to leave well enough alone, but the other part—the impudent maknae part that could get away with murder—lifts them out and regards them through the clear plastic before opening the bag. Jaejoong's photos spill into his hands. He's already seen most of them, but it still feels like prying as he shuffles through the collection. There should be thirty in all from what he remembers. Most of them are unflattering, sometimes blurry as Jaejoong tries to snap the picture surreptitiously before he's stopped or his subject flees. Others are captured in calm, quiet moments. Those are beautiful. And some are just plain fun, like a sugar-addled, hyperactive Yoochun obviously caught up in Jaejoong's rhythm, all too happy to give the camera a manic smile.

Next, a snapshot of Yunho sleeping, arms and legs all akimbo, and his phone lying forgotten in an open hand. Changmin cracks a grin at Junsu's infamous shower picture. Another one of Junsu, but unaware of the camera as he talks animatedly on the phone with his brother (it used to be a common sight, but Changmin hasn't seen it in months—forever). Yoochun again, leaning near the open door of the balcony but not venturing too far out since it's several stories up, a cigarette in hand and motioning Jaejoong to come join him. There's Changmin's own face, red with laughter and alcohol judging by the bottles of soju on the table, mouth open and eyes squinted in crescents of happiness.

It dawns on him then that there are no photos of Jaejoong himself. _Impossible_ , he thinks, cycling through them faster. Jaejoong the vain, Jaejoong the selca-addict, Jaejoong the ulzzang—you couldn't put a camera in his hands and not expect him to camwhore. This is the guy who once modeled for their fans from the balcony and got them kicked out of their apartment.

But as he nears the end of the photos Changmin has to concede that not one of them includes Jaejoong. The closest they get is Yoochun wearing Jaejoong's clothes.

_Maybe there was another film pack_ , he rationalizes, though it's a long shot. And that still doesn't explain why the pictures are here. Jaejoong should have packed them with his own things. A mix-up could have been possible, as scatter-brained as he is, although the rest of the stuff in the box definitely belongs to Changmin.

"Hyung," he says aloud, aiming for exasperation but the emptiness of the apartment strips the sentiment down to its bare bones. He tries again, quietly, "Hyung, how could you just..."

The last photo is himself—or part of himself, disappearing into his bedroom. He hadn't known he was being stalked when this was taken, judging by the sneaky around-the-corner viewpoint. Even now when it's just him and Yunho, he still habitually locks the door.

Changmin's hand curls and thuds against his chest, remembering the shape of Jaejoong's fist and the bony spurs of his knuckles, or the width and flash-heat of his open palm as it slaps his arm. It's hard to forget all that constant pummeling; the thump, thump, thump of, _this much, this much, this much._

#

It usually takes a special occasion to make Changmin a social drinker—birthdays, anniversaries, record-breaking album sales, whenever-Jaejoong-feels-like-it (a semi-frequent occasion in days past). He figures an old friend's release from the military is reason enough, and when he has a free evening they meet at a bar near TVXQ's old neighborhood. It was the first place Changmin thought of, familiarity making it feel safe despite the twinge of nostalgia, and that's easy enough to dull after a few shots.

He should have known better. Changmin's supposed to be the smart one—or at least, he has an image to uphold, because in reality he's no genius even if he does have pretty good common sense. That common sense shrivels when Yoochun walks in and all Changmin can do is stare, then quickly look away, and then belatedly remember he's pouring a drink and now the soju is spilling all over the table.

The ensuing commotion isn't terribly noticeable, but as Changmin makes a wild grab for some napkins he risks a glance up and indeed finds Yoochun noticing. Their eyes meet and then brush aside in that awkward I-was-just-looking-around-at-nothing-in-particular way. Not even a smile or nod. A couple years ago, Yoochun would have been laughing and pointing and dodging soggy napkins lobbed in his direction. A phone call later and Jaejoong would have shown up to crash the party, maybe even with Junsu and Yunho in tow, claiming an occasion for no reason except he could.

It's not like they all agreed to act like strangers, no matter what the company wants. No matter what arguments they have. They're adults; they can handle their private conflicts with maturity. More than that, they're TVXQ, and they've been together for years, since forever, to the point where they're like magnets naturally drawing each other. They've had disagreements before, but this time, at some point during the tense process of discussion and attempted negotiation, right before the public outbreak, their poles switched. Not because of a misunderstanding. Rather, they understood too well that they'd reached an impasse, and uneasy separation and radio silence made for a queasy, further repellent void.

Changmin gets up to throw the wad of napkins away and makes a trip to the men's room to wash his hands. He scrubs them furiously beneath the rush of water from the faucet. His thoughts are in order, and he's well aware that it's not any one person or side's fault—there's no forgiveness to give or seek—but his feelings are an irrational mess, and so he stands at the sink longer than necessary. Unfortunately, the only thing the soap and water can clean are his hands.

He's just beginning to register how OCD this is (and wouldn't the media have a field day with _that_ ), when the door swings open and he's pretty sure the deer-in-headlights look on Yoochun's face bears a striking similarity to his own.

"Sorry," Yoochun blurts, as if he's walked in on something severely incriminating and not just Changmin washing his hands for five minutes straight (although that's admittedly kind of weird).

Then a toilet flushes, and a red-faced, obviously-smashed man stumbles out of the stall to splash messily at a sink before leaving the two of them alone in the restroom. Now Changmin feels even more ludicrous, and Yoochun looks like he kind of wants to laugh or kind of wants to run away.

Changmin lets out a huff and finally turns off the tap, yanking a paper towel from the dispenser. "'Of all the gin joints,'" he quotes, eyes lowered and allowing for the option of ignoring. "'In all the towns, in all the world.'"

"Hey, I've gotten drunk here way more than you, which gives me more right. Also, how come you get to be Humphrey Bogart?" The playful needling means he's decided to stick it out after all, and that lets Changmin dispose of the paper towel before he rubs his skin red.

"True," he says after a considering pause. "You're not a very good Ingrid Bergman."

Yoochun sputters, unsure if he should take offense or not. Jaejoong would have one-touched him, definitely offended. "Fine," Yoochun says once he's recovered, deceptively nonchalant. "In that case, Jaejoong can be the Ilsa to your Rick."

Changmin suddenly regrets starting down this road and darts a glance towards the door. "Is he...?"

But his half-dreading, half-hopeful query is met with a negative shake of the head. "Just some friends from the _Ripley_ staff. Jaejoong was hell-bent on finishing a song tonight for the new album, and Junsu's with his family."

"Ah..." Changmin shifts from foot to foot, caught between guilty relief and guiltier disappointment. Because it feels appropriate to reciprocate, he adds, "Yunho was kidnapped by Heechul tonight, so can I only imagine what they're up to."

Yoochun laughs, a welcome sound despite its tentative note. "Sure, but it'll do him some good."

What neither of them mention is how obviously busy Yunho's been keeping himself. But, Changmin reasons, he's doing a lot better now compared to two years ago.

The restroom door opens again and a man cuts between them to make a beeline for the urinals, reminding Changmin that this isn't the best place to catch up. Only, he isn't sure such a place exists anywhere outside where they have strict orders not to be seen together, and they may only talk about each other in broad, pre-approved terms. Part of Changmin wishes he could be a child again, young and dumb and forgivable for transgressions that the higher powers would disapprove of. But even as a rookie he'd known what kind of foundation this industry was built upon.

So he takes a deep breath and says, "My friend's waiting for me. And I should let you, uh, commune with nature."

"What, you don't want to gossip in the restroom like a bunch of girls?" But Yoochun's smile is understanding, if a bit sad, and he hesitates before saying. "Nice running into you, Changmin-ah."

He almost says, "Call me," but the brave words never make it out of his cowardly throat. Instead what he manages is, "Good luck with filming."

"Good luck with your single," Yoochun says, causing a lump of emotion to get caught in Changmin's throat. Yoochun feels it too, words a little choked around a cheer of, "TVXQ, hwaiting!"

That spurs Changmin in turn to grab Yoochun's hand, holding it up tightly and echoing back with quiet confirmation and conviction, " _TVXQ, hwaiting._ "

#

"Do you remember Jaejoong's Polaroid camera?"

They're waiting on the set for their next Japanese PV, and Yunho makes a strange sound in the middle of taking a swallow from his water bottle. Changmin schools his features in innocence—if it had been intentional he'd have owned up to it. Coughing, Yunho caps the bottle and says, "That sort of primal fear is hard to forget. Why—" 

The flash goes off in front of his face. Yunho blinks in rapid succession while Changmin chuckles evilly, taking the credit for that one. Jaejoong's camera spits out the picture and Changmin holds it up between two fingers with a smirk.

"Why do you have that?" Yunho asks once he finds his voice. It's his stern leader-sshi voice, but Yunho isn't fooling anybody.

"Found it," Changmin says smugly, priming the camera for another go before they're called over to begin filming. He leaves the Polaroid on his chair instead of putting it back in his bag.

Later, when he finishes with his solo close-ups and steps off-set, he walks right into a blinding flash. It's not entirely unexpected, and when the spots clear from his abused vision he sees Yunho grinning his vengeance, camera in hand.

#

Changmin is hunched over the table when one more flash goes off, and he straightens up expectantly.

"Last one," Yunho confirms, and removes the photo to set it down with the others.  
The entire collection is spread across the tabletop, forty Polaroids in total, with the newer pictures clustered together. Those Changmin gathers up, looking them over one by one before dropping them in an envelope. There are a couple shots of them goofing around on-set, but that's just the beginning. There's also a triumphant view of the TV screen displaying Changmin's new high score, hard-earned after hours of swearing at the TV and a steady decrease of his worth as a human being. For a very brief moment he toyed with the idea of leaving Junsu's score as it was, then scoffed at such soft-heartedness, ditching sentimentality for competition. It is Junsu, after all.

Yoochun will appreciate the sight of the piano, ivory keys ready for the flirting touch of experienced hands, and the words penned in the margin read, "Play it for me, Sam." He's allowed a bit of sentimentality laced with humor where Yoochun is concerned.

Yunho taps the corner of another photo with a smile, and Changmin lets him get away with a fleeting hair-ruffle. He glances down with embarrassed fondness at the image of Yunho tucked into bed, Bambi nestled in the curve of his arm and phone turned off: proof that leader-sshi is being looked after. _What?_ Changmin challenges with a mute lift of his brow, but Yunho only grins wider.

One of the pictures they'd had to mark with a white paint pen: no words, just five connected dots zigzagging across a plain black field.

Next is the shot Yunho just captured, and Changmin's bent frame doesn't look tired so much as intent on what lies before him. There's a sharp contrast of shadow and light that heightens the intensity, and he's not sure about the dramatic effect compared to everything else. It doesn't fit, but before he can really think about it Yunho plucks the Polaroid from his fingers and puts it in its place with the rest.

That leaves just one, unexplained and unquestioned. The door is slightly ajar, neither flung open wide, nor guarding a hairline crack. The pale light illuminating the room within is more cool than warm, and it doesn't spill out much into the hallway, but as far as invitations go it serves its purpose. The room could be worth stepping inside. If someone still really wants to.

Ten photographs go into the envelope. Ten moments, memories, and messages. Ten thousand words—maybe—for what they're worth. Either very little or a whole lot with indeterminable range, but that's how it is with feelings. Changmin, ever-striving to understand and make sense of the nonsensical, measures them in beats and bruises. Thump-thumps on flesh and their rib-kicking echoes, pulsing a lifeline from one person to another that both asks and assures, _this much, this much, this much._


End file.
